


Make Me

by littlebreadrolls



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Domestic, Face Slapping, Handcuffs, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Mild Knifeplay, Murder Husbands, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Vibrators, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebreadrolls/pseuds/littlebreadrolls
Summary: Will's eyes flutter. He groans. "Fuck.""Not yet."(This is just ridiculous filth.)





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> Still working on all of my other fics. Sorry, I'm the worst at updating. In the meantime, I wrote some porn????

 

Will comes back from his evening walk smelling of seawater and sweat. His curly hair has wilted from the humidity, his ankles are dark with dried sand. For once, he's actually remembered to rinse the dogs off with the garden hose before letting them into the house; tired and wet, they stream cheerfully into the kitchen, their tails wagging and their nails clicking on the tile.

Billy and Regina go to drink from their water bowls. Matis and Ceph choose instead to cluster around Hannibal, who's standing by the stove and stirring something fragrant. They sniff him eagerly, nose at his hand, beg noisily for pets and handouts.

"No, no," Hannibal says, "not for you." But he does bend down to pet them. When he glances up, he finds Will leaning in the kitchen doorway, his arms folded. His expression is uncharacteristically soft. As soon as their eyes meet, Will clears his throat and looks away.

"You give them too much people food," he says gruffly. "That's why they always beg you, and never me."

"Perhaps." Hannibal stands up to lower the heat on the stove top. "Alas, I cannot help my tender heart." He maintains a dignified placidity in the face of Will's terrifically undignified snort.

"Oh. I'm sure."

"Dinner is almost ready. The stew needs to simmer awhile longer."

"We're having stew? Pretty unpretentious, by your standards."

"I thought, for tonight, something nourishing and comforting would be the best option. We can also take advantage of the slow cooking time." Hannibal washes his hands at the sink, and dries them fastidiously on one of his tea towels.

He smells Will's approach as much as he hears it. "That," Will says, his breath suddenly warm on the back of Hannibal's neck, "sounds a little ominous, Dr. Lecter. What have you got planned?"

Of course Will must know. Hannibal turns, so that they're face-to-face. He takes a moment to admire Will's half-lidded eyes, his smudgy black lashes, his twitching mouth all chapped and pressed thin. Then he leans in, puts his hands lightly on Will's shoulders, and tucks his nose at the fragrant juncture of Will's neck. Will is damp and alive, and warm with sweat. Hannibal smells him. Sets the sharp edge of his teeth on his flesh and bites, every-so-slightly, like he's scruffing a puppy.

Instinctively, Will's knees unlock; he catches himself just in time to keep from crumpling down onto them. A blush gathers high on his cheekbones. He pulls back to glare.

"My dear boy," Hannibal says fondly, not bothering to hide the crinkling of his eyes, "are you eager?"

Will huffs, then, and tries to shake his arms off. Hannibal doesn't let him. Instead, he tugs him back in, hides his smile in Will's skin, distracts them both by licking where his lips are pressed. He tastes salt. Feels the blood pulsing beneath. _Will_ , he thinks, rather dreamily.

 

He lets Will feed all of the dogs.

Then he leads Will upstairs to their bedroom and tells him to strip.

Will doesn't. Instead, he stands by the door stubbornly. He's saying, _Make me,_ with his folded arms and glaring eyes, and so Hannibal does. He reaches Will in three long strides, grabs Will tight and then even tighter when Will tries to struggle, and throws him onto the huge bed. Will bolts for the other side, making a mess of the covers, and Hannibal yanks him back by the ankle.

Afterwards, it's a simple matter to climb over Will's back, hold him down with one hand on both of Will's wrists and the other tangled in Will's hair. Will bucks and snarls beneath him, kicking his legs, making no attempt whatsoever to temper the strength of his swinging hands (one time, during a similar encounter, Will did in fact succeed in hitting Hannibal's nose; there was quite a lot of blood after, on both of them, and so it was fortunate that Hannibal knew many methods for removing blood stains from fabric).

Hannibal is patient now. He holds Will steady, tipping his head back by his curly hair until he's breathless. Then, in a quick maneuver, he flips Will onto his back, keeping hold of his wrists, making him show his soft belly.

"Will you behave?" he asks conversationally. "Or shall I tie you up?'

Will is panting, staring up blankly at the ceiling. "Fuck you."

"The latter it is, then.

Hannibal slaps him hard, two times in rapid succession. Taking advantage of Will's stunned laxity, Hannibal heaves him up the bed and secures him neatly to the headboard with the pair of handcuffs they keep tucked away in the closet (well, that they _usually_ keep tucked away in the closet; he's had it ready today under one of the pillows). Will cranes his neck to peer up at them. He tests their give a few times, as if he doesn't know perfectly well how hardy they are from long, long experience.

While he's distracted, Hannibal reaches over into their bedside drawer and pulls out a knife.

Will's breath hitches exaggeratedly.

It's sharp of course. After all, dull knives can be dangerous. He tests the blade against his own thumb first, and then smears the thin split in his skin tenderly against Will's mouth. His blood is dark and lovely on Will's lips, like lipstick – and isn't _that_ an intriguing thought? He must remember to give it further consideration. For now, he simply watches Will flick his tongue out, tasting.

"Shall I cut you, my dear?" Hannibal asks.

Will hesitates, shakes his head. His eyes are wide.

"No? Hm." Hannibal pretends to consider it. Then he finds himself actually considering it. But it really would have been better to lay down some towels first, if they were going it play _that_ particular game, and so he says, "Very well, another day."

Rather than cutting Will's flesh, he uses the knife to Will's clothing off of him. Will flushes at the feeling of the cold metal skimming just above his skin. By the time Hannibal slices off his trousers, his cock is half hard. Hannibal examines it clinically. "You seem to be enjoying this very much, dear."

He takes the head of Will's cock between his thumb and forefinger, and rubs gently. A bead of liquid wells up at the tip.

Will's eyes flutter. He groans. "Fuck."

"Not yet."

The rest of the clothes are gone. They were not very nice clothes, and Hannibal is pleased that they are ruined. Of course, Will is too perceptive. "'S'that the only reason you went with the knife, today? So you could have an excuse to buy me new clothes?"

"Not the only reason, no. I have found that you enjoy the presence of the knife. It excites you." He slides the cool blade against Will's cock. It jerks, as if in agreement. He rests the knife at the head, sliding it gently, so gently, along the flaring tip.

Will swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing dramatically. "H-Hannibal – "

"Another day," Hannibal repeats kindly, returning the knife to the table. Then he leans back down and, without warning, sinks his hot mouth down over Will's cock. Will shouts, flailing, despite the unshakeable grip Hannibal has on the bones of his hips. His wrists catch violently on the handcuffs. It is a good thing that they're padded.

Hannibal sucks him down greedily, until he's nestled in the back of his throat. He swallows of course. Above him, Will is exhaling one long, low moan. Hannibal puts his hand on Will's heaving stomach and slowly pulls his head back up, relaxing his mouth gently around the tip, suckling it sweetly. A bead of pre-ejaculate spills onto Hannibal's tongue. He swallows it down with an exaggerated bob of his throat, and then lingers there, idly swirling his tongue and working his lips, until the heaving of Will's stomach becomes especially rapid and his moans raise in pitch.

Then he sits back up. His mouth feels swollen and wet.

Will is left sprawled and panting beneath him, his hands clenched into fists above his head and his eyes glassy. His cock is flushed and swollen, leaking against his stomach. Hannibal runs a finger gently along it. It twitches violently.

"C-come on, Hannibal – "

Hannibal slaps Will's inner thigh – hard enough to leave a red imprint. Will jerks all over. "Be patient, boy."

He takes the sting out of his words – and out of the slap – by leaning down and laving the red mark he left on Will's skin. His tongue is hot and wet, so close to where Will wants it, and Will hisses, bucking up his hips. Hannibal sucks a string of dark hickeys into Will's flesh before sitting back to survey his handiwork. "I was thinking of letting you fuck me," he says, "but I believe I've decided on a bit of a different course today."

Will huffs out something too hoarse to be a laugh. "Oh, of course. Whatever amuses you. Do, please, enjoy yourself, doctor."

"I plan to. And I believe that you will as well." Hannibal swoops down and suckles a wet a kiss on the tip of Will's cock. "My sweet boy," he murmurs there, right against that hot thin skin. "You're desperate for it – aren't you?"

Will releases a series of breathy whimpers, and then seems immediately embarrassed about having done so. A red flush begins to creep down his chest.

Smiling, Hannibal reaches back towards the bedside table and opens the drawer. Will cranes his neck to get a look at what's being taken out of it.

"O-oh," he stutters. "That's ... that's new."

"For us, yes. Though I assume you're not wholly unfamiliar with the use of such a device."

"Uh, y-yeah, no, I've – I've had girlfriends. They – they used them."

"I see. Have you ever had one used on yourself?"

Without waiting for an answer, Hannibal presses a button on a remote held in his left hand. The dildo in his right begins to vibrate. Will's eyes widen comically. They widen even further when Hannibal begins to move the thing inexorably towards him.

"Hannibal – '" Will says, his expression a mixture of reticence and arousal, and then the vibrator touches the ruddy head of his cock and whatever words he planned to say next seem to catch abruptly in his throat. He opens and closes his mouth – once, twice. His eyelids flutter.

For a long while, Hannibal amuses himself by testing the vibrator against all of Will's sensitive places.  He runs it along Will's shaft (ever so gently, and then in hard pressing jolts). He places it at the glistening tip of Will's cock, rubs it against the slit. He pulls it down to his trembling thighs and his sack.

Will is overwhelmed easily by touch, Hannibal knows; rather than building up gradually inside of him, his orgasms always seem to crest all at once. It's quite a fine line to toe, bringing Will to the edge of climax without tipping him over into it. In the year that they've been together, Hannibal has made great headway in learning exactly where that line is. He has made a thorough study of Will, of his clever head and his strong, scarred body. It is no longer difficult (though still always exciting) to wind him up and hold him back, again and again and again, with perfect efficiency and merciless expertise. That is what he does now.

After a while, as always, he finds that his own cock becomes unbearable – he has to reach down his free hand and give it a quick press through his trousers. _Soon,_ he comforts it, _soon_. He leans away and snatches up the lube from the drawer. The vibrator detaches from Will's skin in the process, and Will groans in complaint, but his eyes blink open at the sound of the bottle being uncapped. His hips buck upwards. His swollen cock leaks against his stomach. 

"Hannibal, I need – " he chokes out abruptly.

"In time," Hannibal says, and his own voice has become slightly strained. "Have patience." His hair falls over his forehead. His fine pressed trousers are tented in the front. Even he is not patient enough to tease Will any further, however; he slicks up his fingers and presses one in, almost too quickly. Will hisses, but bears down. The finger slips in easily. He's hot, so _terribly_ hot and tight inside. They both groan.

Hannibal flicks the vibrator to its lowest setting – barely a hum – and presses it back against Will's sack. Will squirms. "N-no," he snaps, "it's – it's too – "

It's too much, Hannibal knows, and not enough, all at once. In the past, he's teased Will in this manner for a long time – lapping gently at Will's softest places, never enough to do anything but torture – until Will begged. Perhaps he will beg today. He's a vision by now, his skin sweaty and flushed all down his neck and chest, his mouth gasping and desperate. His cock leaks profusely. Hannibal has already worked up to three fingers, pressing softly against Will's perineum with his thumb, all the while letting the vibrator buzz gently against the Will's cock and balls. Hannibal leans his head down, his hands still busily working, and takes the tip of it loosely into his hot mouth.

Will howls.

Hannibal drops the vibrator, grips Will around the base of his cock. Even then, it takes him a moment to be certain that he's managed to stay Will's climax – that the pearly beads of liquid rolling down Will's shaft are merely pre-ejaculate. Below him, Will shouts hoarsely and convulses like he's being tortured.

"Oh God," he sobs.

His eyes are rolled to their whites, his throat bobbing desperately. The sight makes Hannibal's own cock jerk in his trousers, makes a shuddering hiss escape from his lips. In the pit of his stomach, the eagerness swells suddenly – uncontrollably – to the point of frenzy; he knocks the vibrator out of the way without bothering to turn it off, fumbles his cock out of the front of his trousers so hastily that the zipper catches twice, slicks himself up messily with too much lube, and lines himself up at Will's hole. He thrusts, shallowly. The ring of muscle swallows his cockhead in so sweetly, so greedily, that Hannibal can't help but tip his head back and groan.

"Oh!" Will's back is arched. His mouth is a perfect O. His eyes, when they flicker onto Hannibal's, are leaking tears. Hannibal wants to lean down and lick them up. "H-Hannibal," he pants, his voice high and wrecked and trembling, "fuck me  – "

A bolt of heat slams up Hannibal's spine. His upper lip curls in a feral snarl. "Ask nicely, dear."

He draws his hips back, teasing Will's perineum with the coral tip of his cock. Will squirms upwards instinctively, and makes guttural, whimpering sounds when Hannibal merely retreats further to deny him. "Please," he gasps, "please, please, oh Christ, fuck _, please_ – "

Will's voice breaks at the same that Hannibal's forbearance does. Hannibal pushes forwards smoothly, moaning at the way his entire cock is encased in that warm, sucking heat. He lets himself fall forwards, catching himself with his hands on the bed beside Will's shoulders. He licks at Will's shuddering neck, his open mouth. "Tell me you belong to me," he groans into that sweetness. "Tell me."

"I – yes – yes – "

He presses in close, swiveling his hips and grinding lushly.

"Scream," he hisses, grinding hard, "scream for me, pet, and I'll give you what you want."

And Will does scream. He screams quite a fair bit. 

 

Afterwards, while Will dozes lifelessly on the bed, Hannibal takes the opportunity to stand up and do a few stretches. He is getting on in years, after all, and not as limber as he used to be. Then, sated and pleased, he goes to the washroom to retrieve a towel.

Will barely stirs when Hannibal returns to wipe him down. His eyelids do flutter when Hannibal gently inserts his fingers inside of him, where he's so swollen and tender. And when Hannibal lifts up his limp cock (a delicious mouthful) and wipes it down tenderly in the damp towel, he exhales a faint whine.

"Sh, sh," Hannibal murmurs, "I'm almost done. There's a good boy."

Will grumbles softly. "Next time," he manages to slur out, his eyes still closed, "'s my turn to fuck _you."_

"Duly noted."

Hannibal tosses the towel in the clothing hamper and ambles downstairs, still unabashedly nude, to check on the stew. It should be about ready now, which is fortunate; Will is sure to be hungry after his exertions. The meat is, of course, succulently moist, and the vegetables hearty and tender.


End file.
